


All That Remains

by BloodylocksBathory



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2017-12-25 15:39:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodylocksBathory/pseuds/BloodylocksBathory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stricken with grief after the Battle of Five Armies, Bofur learns to endure with the help of his friends and prepares to be a father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mourning

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [At All Costs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/726395) by [ferowyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferowyn/pseuds/ferowyn). 



> Apologies to ferowyn, whose work inspired this story, as I said I would post this a million years ago. But thanks for putting the idea in my head, and I hope you enjoy.

Bofur does not smile anymore, not truly. Not since the Battle of Five Armies - and perhaps earlier still - has he laughed or joked or shared in the good cheer of familiar company or a meaningful moment. In fact, both family and friends see very little of their fellow dwarf. They do not see him at the feasts, where he once might have played his flute and engaged in a jovial tune, and they never see him by a fireside, where long ago he would have been expected to sit telling stories that would have dwarves of all ages captivated and oftentimes laughing.

No, nowadays, Bofur hides away in his modest living quarters, seeing few but those who had survived the infamous battle. Those survivors occasionally try to coax him out of hiding, but they know it would do little good. In fact, his hiding away does not surprise them one bit.

Thirteen dwarves joined the battle. Three were lost subsequently; a king and his nephews. Not only was a royal bloodline severed, but three friends were lost.

No, not three. Four.

A hobbit had joined the fray that afternoon. A hobbit saved the life of his companion, and in exchange died in Bofur's arms. Bofur wept for three days after that.

Following the burial of the royal line of Durin and their hobbit friend, Bofur visited their shared tomb every day for a full month. He seemed to neither sleep nor eat, and the remaining nine grew worried. Bombur tried reasoning with him, Dwalin tried threats, and even Nori, whom all had expected to have left Erebor by now, had resorted to begging their friend to move on from his grief.

After all, they all said, Bilbo would not have wanted to see him so miserable.

"Bilbo is dead," he finally declared. "So it makes no difference what he would have wanted, because he's not here to want anything."

*

After five weeks of visiting the tomb, Bofur was found unconscious in a hallway en route to his living quarters. Bifur, having discovered him, promptly dragged his motionless cousin to Oin. Upon waking, Bofur quickly deciphered where he was, and he barely paid the stern, elderly dwarf any attention. He turned on his side and tried to find sleep once more, but Oin would have none of it.

"Why did you not tell anyone?" he asked.

Bofur wanted to cover his ears and ignore the old apothecary, but he had already behaved childishly enough. Even so, he had no real answers.

"I was too busy ignoring it myself."

He expected a serious reprimand, but only silence followed. When Oin finally spoke once more, his words gripped at Bofur's heart like a garland of thorns.

"Our burglar was the father, was he not?"

Bofur took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, wordlessly confirming the suspicion with a hand over his belly, exposed from Oin's earlier examining.

"When was the last time you've eaten?"

"This morning," the younger dwarf promptly replied, in no mood to talk, let alone about his present circumstance.

"Forgive me for suggesting any dishonesty," the elder dwarf said, "but none of us ever see you come to the feasts, or to procure food from the marketplaces."

"I leave my home very rarely," Bofur plainly stated. "I'd rather not be seen."

"Whether or not you decide to tell the others," Oin continued, "they will eventually be able to see it for themselves. That belly cannot be so easily hidden behind clothes much longer. And you cannot simply hide yourself away in your little rooms forever."

"Why not?" Bofur asked coldly. He was angry now, and did not need lectures from someone who did not truly know his pain. "Maybe ignoring it will end up being for the best."

Oin was silent again, but the younger dwarf felt his friend's approach as the physician stood and leaned over his curled up form, laying a firm hand on his shoulder.

"When you lose this child," he said, "and you most definitely will at this rate, I will do my duty to see that you survive. But remember that even though you no longer care what the others will think, Bilbo would be furious with you."

"Then let his ghost punish me!" Bofur hissed angrily, sitting up with fists clenched and tears threatening to escape. "What do I care for how a dead hobbit feels?? He is gone!"

"No, not all of him!" Oin argued, and his hand clamped over his friend's slowly growing midsection. Bofur grimaced at the idea and squeezed his eyes shut, desperate not to weep.

"Speak truthfully. Do you feel nothing for this child?"

Bofur could not maintain his resolve, and though Oin's hearing was going, his eyesight was not; he saw the tremble of his young friend's lip very clearly.

"I need some time alone," the young dwarf said, his voice weak. "To think."

"Do not be long," Oin gently advised, letting Bofur stand and fasten his clothing. "You've already spent enough time away from friends."


	2. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur finally accepts some help.

The unwell dwarf was in a haze as he wandered away from Oin's quarters. If anyone stared at his meandering, he was too numb to notice. Thoughts of the past year or so swam in circles in his mind. He wished he had never joined the company, even though at the beginning he had never been more thrilled at the prospect of adventure. He wished he and Bilbo had never met. He wished they had not come to love one another.

Bofur thought back on Bilbo's funeral as he near-blindly headed down a hall with far less traffic. The brave little hobbit had been entombed with the last heirs of Durin, sharing the sacred room with Thorin, Fili, and Kili as though he were royalty himself. Bofur had vomited shortly before the ceremony, and the others had shrugged the episode as part of his overwhelming despair; after all, his bond with the hobbit had been no secret with the rest of the company. Perhaps his sense of grief and panic were partly the cause, but he was still within the first months of this cursed gestation, the very thing that inspired Bilbo to join his side in battle. Blood streaming out of the hobbits trembling body stained Bofur's vision with red for a moment as he continued to walk.

Whatever had been salvaged from Bilbo's personal belongings had been offered to Bofur as mementos, but he refused the lot. No, not the entire lot. He lingered on a peculiar, plain gold ring as he packed the parcel to be shipped back to Bilbo's relatives. In fact, he very nearly kept it for himself, but the sudden desire it brought in him made him feel sick, and it brought a stabbing pain in his belly that frightened him. Burying the ring amidst the possessions, Bofur wrapped the parcel and jotted out a quick letter with his shaking hand, simply stating Bilbo's untimely passing. Bilbo had often mentioned certain members of his family with fondness, and so the dwarf surmised that the Tooks would take much better care of whatever remained of the unfortunate hobbit.

His hobbit. His dearest Bilbo...

By the time Bofur snapped out of his reverie, no one else was in sight. Blinking, he happened to glance down a dark tunnel, and since he could think of no reason to stay away, he entered.

*

Bofur was standing at the edge of a chasm when he was spotted later that day. This time, Nori was the one to find him, and the sight of a dwarf trapped within the throes of grief and standing at a cliff was cause for immediate worry. Abandoned by the miners to search for treasures elsewhere, the gorge was not extraordinarily deep, but Nori did not want to take any chances.

"Don't worry," Bofur said, not even turning to regard his visitor, "I won't jump. I just needed to be someplace... away. To gather my thoughts."

"And what has it brought you?" Nori asked carefully, taking a step toward his fellow dwarf and doubting the reassurance.

"I sent him away, you know," Bofur said, as though not fully paying his friend any mind. "But he came back. Should've known he would, really. He was worried for me. And then..." he swallowed, but the lump in his throat would not go away. He sighed, his shoulders hunched.

"Why would he not understand?" he asked bitterly, though he seemed to ask the void beneath him more than Nori. "I wanted him safe. But he came back. He died to save me." He turned to face the dwarven thief, who was certain he would never grow accustomed to that look of heartbreak on his friend's once cheerful face.

"To save us."

Nori lifted a finely braided eyebrow. "Us?"

Bofur's expression darkened. "Our child."

Silence filled the cavernous space as Nori let the news sink into his brain. When he looked at Bofur again, the other dwarf looked near to fainting. The thief stepped forward and caught him before he could go lose balance and go backwards over the ledge. He held onto his shivering comrade until the despaired shaking subsided, his grip firm and reassuring.

"Sending him away was better," Bofur said, his voice breaking. "Because even with him gone... there was still a chance I could have seen him again. He would have seen his child one day. Now he'll never see him."

Nori felt tears sliding down his neck where his mournful friend rested his head. He stroked the toymaker's hair, and they sat at the ledge for several minutes before the former good-for-nothing turned spymaster of Erebor spoke up.

"Have you eaten?" he asked. Bofur rubbed his eyes dry.

"Not since last night," he confessed.

"Come along," Nori said, pulling his friend to his feet. "We'll get some food in you. The two of you need to start taking care of yourselves. Who else knows about this, by the way?"

"Only Oin," Bofur replied, following him down the path on shaky legs. He still felt weak, and the spymaster kept a strong grip on his arm. Perhaps some food really was a good idea.

"Will you be hiding away less and less now?" Nori asked.

"Yes," Bofur answered, his tone resolute. "It's time I stop feeling sorry for myself."

"You don't need to do this all by yourself, you know," Nori remarked. "You do still have friends."

"Aye," the toymaker muttered. "And I'll welcome the help. It's what Bilbo would have wanted. After all..." He patted his stomach, still unremarkable underneath his clothes. "This is all I have left of him."

*

A few days later, Bofur finally revealed not only himself to the remainder of the company, but also that fact that a little dwarrow would be joining their numbers. He came to the agreement that he would come out from hiding and welcome the attention of his friends once more, on the condition that they not hover over him and treat him as though he were made of glass. Bofur made good on his word, and though he still visited the tomb on occasion, he more often left his quarters to be with friends and family. He found he had missed their company greatly, and they seemed overjoyed to help in any way possible. Some were more enthused than others. Ori was especially excited to have a reason to knit very small garments.

And yet despite their help, despite his return from the shadows, Bofur still never expressed joy as he once had. The last time anyone had seen him genuinely smile seemed like ages ago. Nowadays, the smile his friends might see from him was sad, almost as though the toymaker forced the expression so as to satisfy those he cared for. The first time he felt a good strong kick from his child, Dwalin had been visiting, and the warrior simply watched as Bofur barely managed a joyless little laugh before breaking into a shaking, pathetic sob. Dwalin lay an arm around trembling shoulders, saying nothing as he patiently waited for his friend to finish weeping.

"He's not here to feel it for himself," the grief-stricken dwarf said, giving a long, unsteady sigh. "He's not here to share in any of this."

Dwalin was silent for a few moments. Sentiment and support was not his forte, as opposed to stabbing hearts and cleaving skulls. But finally, he thought of something to say.

"Not where you can see him," he replied, his gruff voice briefly gentle. Bofur leaned against his friend, eyes closed, and welcomed the reassurance. He felt a large hand against his belly, and focused on the strength and warmth it provided, trying to memorize the sensation. Dwalin's hands were not as small as Bilbo's, but for now they would do.


	3. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparation with friends and family.

Bofur's pregnancy continued otherwise with relative ease. Even though he never seemed to regain the joy he once had before the Battle of Five Armies, he awaited the arrival of his child in ways which nearly made him seem like his old self. Mining was out of the question (and thankfully no one had to remind him of such), but he passed the time with his toy making. Not only did the diversion do well to entertain the dwarf children of Erebor, it gave Bofur the opportunity to prepare lovely belongings for his own little dwarrow. In fact, his humble living quarters were beginning to take on the quality of a proper home for both dwarf and dwarfling alike.

Those of Thorin's company that had once been thirteen often visited to assist in crafting a bassinet or reorganizing the content of the home. Bombur, presently with a wife and children of his own, was the most helpful in what needed to be built, prepared, supplied, and so on. He also came in handy for whenever his brother was being overwhelmed by an all-too-clueless Gloin, who thought himself helpful in sharing every gruesome detail in the birth of his son Gimli. If the blanched expression on Bofur's face was not enough to still Gloin's mouth, then the stern glare on Bombur's was.

Bofur seemed able to keep his mind off of his grief with any number of distractions, with one exception. Though he insisted feeling the little one move about pleased him greatly, each of the remaining nine, even Bifur, saw a mournful distance in Bofur's eyes. The first time the company took notice, Dwalin had spoken up to change subjects, and the rest followed suit. Other times, the toymaker would invite curious hands to feel a kick. Either way, he felt reassured, as did his friends and family, that neither Bilbo nor the last of the line of Durin had been lost for nothing. Erebor was reclaimed, and its true population thrived and lived quite fully.

*

"I swear to you, that's not necessary," Bofur said as he watched Nori and Dori tidy up following a supper. Cleaning dishes and clearing a table was hardly strenuous work, even for someone nearing the birth of their child, but secretly Bofur enjoyed having others occasionally doing menial work for him. Also, he was amused by the notion of Nori doing something that did not directly involve causing trouble.

"And it is of no quandary to us, Bofur," Dori replied, drying and putting away dishes as his brother cleaned. "You should enjoy this while it lasts. Enjoy being off your feet and getting rest now, because your little one is bound to have you up at all hours. And even after they've been weaned, then you'll need to worry over them running everywhere, and you'll have to keep their hands out of everything, or else they'll have no fingers before you know it, and..."

Bofur began to tune out Dori's rambling after a few seconds, a feat he had mastered long ago. Truly, he did like the dwarf, but he also understood why Nori often locked antlers with his eldest sibling. Even now, seated on a comfortable sofa with his feet propped up on a stool, he could see from his position that Nori beginning to bristle at all of the prattling on.

"By Mahal, Dori, it's a wonder our brother learned to wipe his own nose with you looking after him."

Dori immediately puffed up with indignation.

"Well, perhaps if you'd been around to actually help..."

"And fall victim to your mothering? I don't think so."

"Better than becoming a two-bit thief!"

"Better than playing wet-nurse!"

As though answering its parent's silent wishes to break up the looming fight, Bofur's child moved in such a way to make him give a very audible gasp. Both brothers hurried to his side, their argument forgotten, as they saw him place a hand on his distended belly.

"Bofur, what's wrong?" Nori asked, the level of concern in his voice comically unusual.

Dori had taken Bofur's free hand and was trying to maintain eye contact, as though he were a healer himself.

"Is it time?" he asked, which only made his brother more frantic. "Shall we call for Oin?"

"No, no," Bofur reassured them, allowing himself a chuckle at the their response. "No, I'm alright. The dwarrow's just acting up. He may have just turned over." He winced and pressed his hand against the burgeoning curve. "In fact I know he did."

"Really?" Dori asked, and the worry which once twisted his features was instantly replaced by elation. He placed his own hand next to Bofur's, cooing in adoration when he felt a kick. "That means the birth is soon, doesn't it? Nori, stop gaping and have a feel, for goodness' sake!"

Nori hesitated, but finally lifted a hand, which was guided by Bofur to where his own had been. The movement beneath the taut skin certainly felt strange against the Spymaster of Erebor's palm, but not nearly as it had to have felt for Bofur.

"Well, fancy that," Nori remarked with a grin. "He's a strong one, isn't he?" He then looked up at the other hopefully. "Any chance he might be named after one of us?"

Dori scoffed before their friend could answer.

"What makes you certain it will be a boy? Besides, he doesn't need to name the little one after any of us. For all we know, it could be named after..."

Dori trailed off, feeling idiotic. Both brothers glanced at Bofur, who seemed to be lost within his own thoughts.

"Bofur, I am truly sorry," he said, pulling his hand away.

"No need to apologize," the toymaker replied, giving that sad smile. "I'm not the only one who misses him, after all."

Nori gave their friend a rueful look.

"Aye, but you miss him most, of all of us."

Bofur nodded, and both of his guests thought they caught a glimpse of tears in his eyes, but he blinked them away.

"I do indeed," he said. "Nights still pass where I think of just how alone I am in my bed. But then the wee one steps on my innards and sends me to the toilet."

The two other dwarves laughed, something Bofur would have loved to do, but found himself unable to. As he truthfully told them, he often lay awake at night, wondering how it might feel to hold Bilbo again in a bed which now felt far too big. He tried imagining in those moments that his little hobbit could curl up against him, kissing and pressing small hands onto the growing life which shared both dwarf and halfling blood and would be introducing itself to the world in another month's time.

Aule, he ached for Bilbo then.

Bofur realized he had been silent for some time, and he glanced at his concerned friends with a smile which did not quite reach his eyes as it once did.

"He or she, whatever I name it," he declared, shifting his weight on the sofa, "my dwarrow is part of both me and Bilbo. And it will remind me every day that he's not all gone. No good moping when I've got my own wee one to take care of."

Both Dori and Nori smiled, and Dori stood up to make their host some tea.

"And you will not be alone," he reminded Bofur. "A new dwarfling in the company who reclaimed Erebor? He or she will be spoiled rotten!"

"By all of us," Nori said, absent-mindedly smoothing down the material of Bofur's tunic over the swell of his stomach.

"Whatever happened to you disappearing at the first possible chance, Nori?" the toymaker asked in faint disbelief.

"I have few friends," Nori admitted. "But those I do have are well looked after. Also..." and here he leaned closer and lowered his voice to a whisper, gesturing vaguely toward his brother. "I'd rather not have this one raise another like he did with Ori."

"I'll have you know that dwarf scholars are a respectable breed, you mangy pick-pocket!" they heard Dori snarl, prompting mock innocence from Nori and a chuckle from Bofur.

*


	4. The Approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur just wants to have this kid already.

Bofur was getting restless. He could not name a part of his body which did not presently ache, and it all hurt far worse when he was on his feet, even performing the simplest tasks. Oin had strictly advised him to do little else but rest, and allow others to help, but Bofur began to hate the regimen after only a few hours. He hated feeling useless and weak, and he especially hated the way his desire to stay up and about conflicted with the harsh reaction of his body after so much as standing for even less than a minute.

He was desperately ready for this child to be born. Still, the dwarrow was proving to be stubborn. During his increasingly frequent appointments with Oin, Bofur had asked the old dwarf for any possible "remedies" which could force him into giving birth sooner. Oin reassured him - perhaps a little too condescendingly - that the babe would arrive in its own time. However, the fact that said little one was not a full blooded dwarf was cause for slight concern. Dwarf births were not as common as those from other races, and dwarves born from males were even less so. In recent weeks, Oin had decided to come to Bofur himself to save the toymaker the stress of walking such long distances ("not that long," Bofur had grumbled).

The whole situation frustrated Bofur to the point of anger. Aspect of his condition which had once been joyous and fascinating were now tiresome and irritating. Kicks had become deeply uncomfortable and sometimes even painful. His previously sturdy and strong body had grown so heavy and cumbersome that he could barely move. Looking at his reflection used to please him, to know he was to soon be a father (mother? parent?), but presently he looked sick and grotesque. The Great Goblin sprang to mind, and for the rest of that day he refused any visitors.

Thoughts of Bilbo were as always never far behind, and he tended to wonder if the hobbit's presence would have helped at present to alleviate such moments of discomfort and misery. His friends and family tried their best, but they were not Bilbo. Bofur remembered his lost temper, the outburst of letting the halfling's ghost haunt him, and he was beginning to regret saying so. Several of his dreams had lately been so vivid, only for the dwarf to awake grasping at blankets he had mistaken in sleep for discarded clothes, moaning from pleasure provided by someone who was no longer alive. Bofur had once thought that at least a ghost could be better than the absolute absence, but now the dreams left hurt in his heart when he lay alone in his bed.

The dwarf awoke from a nap late one afternoon feeling particularly on edge, and decided then and there to leave his quarters. He had no idea when he would next be able to walk outside on his own, and he preferred to see something of Erebor besides his own home before he would be practically tied down by an irate Oin.

Thank Mahal his friends thought to bring him clothes which presently fit. Ori had offered to knit several larger-sized jumpers for him, but Bofur politely declined. He had not the heart to tell the young dwarf that at his current shape, he would more resemble a gigantic version of one of Ori's balls of yarn. On the bright side, the company's youngest now had more time to knit child-sized attire.

Opening his door, Bofur hesitated. The last time he had felt able to go outside, one particularly obnoxious dwarf had jokingly asked if he needed to borrow Bombur's clothes. Bofur's brother had actually been present at that exchange and, feeling particularly protective, punched the offender. True, the remark had slightly stung, but Bofur knew he would have said the same thing had he been in the stranger's position, and it was certainly nothing to be hit for. At least Bifur had not been the one defending his honor.

Taking a deep breath, the toymaker stepped out and closed the door behind him.

I'll just be out a short while, he told himself, though even now the aches were flaring up through him fiercely.

Most other dwarves stepped aside courteously as Bofur walked along - or waddled, rather - not only due to his painfully obvious condition, but because of who he was. Each remaining member of Thorin's company had become heroes in their own right, and held very high positions of power and wealth. Their king, Dain Ironfoot, had ensured them all ideal careers, even though any of the company could have retired early in their lives thanks to their insurmountable wealth. Bofur had once considered leaving Erebor altogether, to go back to the Shire with Bilbo, but now that nothing remained in Hobbiton for him, he fixed himself to his duties as both miner and toymaker, as he once had before the company's fateful journey. Despair had held him back from taking a career so illustrious as his fellows, but perhaps once the dwarrow was born, he could properly decide what path to take...

His child would be welcome in Erebor, would it not? He found himself wondering from time to time how the babe would be received amongst his fellow dwarves. Children born from unions between elves and men were not unheard of - though what elves did was of little thought to dwarves - but the child of a dwarf and a hobbit? Reassurances from friends and family had barely been comforting, but then again, Dain had not banished him either. How exactly would Bofur's child look? How would other children treat his half-blooded son or daughter? A twinge in his back interrupted his worrying, and he continued on his way.

Ambling down the streets of the nearest marketplace, a few merchants and property owners offered him a place to stop for a rest, should he need it, while most simply asked how he fared. After a while, Bofur started to ignore them, mostly because he worried that if he stopped to sit down, he might not be able to get back up, and one of his friends would be sent for. He would not hear the end of their ranting then.

Turning down a path - going downhill had become automatic for him in his state - Bofur thought he might as well head for a certain shop he frequented, one which sold wood and carving instruments. However, the walk would be quite long yet, and already his excursion had become painful. Every step sent needles up and down his back, and was beginning to radiate out to every boundary of his midsection. The dwarrow's constant squirming did not help matters much either, and he rubbed the underside of his enormous belly, grimacing.

"Just a wee bit further," he muttered. "And then I'll sleep for a week if ye like, but please just let me have this moment outside."

By the time he had reached the small shop, he was not very much against being carried back home. A grey-haired dwarf came to greet him and could not help noticing the way Bofur rubbed at his back, desperate to soothe the tangle of knot which had once been muscle.

"Durin's beard, Bofur, you look ready to burst!" the proprietor exclaimed. "If I am not too bold in saying so..."

"Not at all," Bofur replied, hobbling towards him. "One would be blind not to notice. Now... I find myself in need of a new gouge so that I might put the finishing touches on the little one's cradle."

The shop owner led him over to some possible choices of carving tools and prattled away on sharpness and strength, but already Bofur was wanting to head back home. His feet were dragging as though he had been injected with spider venom, and he wanted nothing more than to collapse into his bed and make good on his promise to sleep for an entire week... although he wondered if he would be able to sleep through the pain which throbbed with every beat of his heart. If Oin did not kill him for his foolishness, Dori definitely would.

Bofur was about to tell the owner that he had to leave when he heard a familiar voice address him from behind.

"Bofur?" Ori asked him in concern. "What are you doing out when you should be..."

When the young dwarf did not continue, Bofur turned to face him. Dizzy, he did not instantly realize Ori was staring downward in alarm. Hearing the shop owner gasp, Bofur finally looked down as well, and at first he did not believe the sight of fluids that were now staining his trousers and dripping down his legs and onto the floor.

Just as he realized what the pain shooting through him had really been, he felt what little strength in him vanish, and the floor suddenly rose up and slammed into him. The last thing he heard before becoming completely unconscious was Ori's panicked cry for help.


	5. Anticipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proceeding into the labor part, with much wailing and gnashing of teeth.

Pain was what awoke Bofur, and as he regained consciousness, he became aware he was moving, or rather being moved. Though on his back, he could feel himself rocking slightly. He opened his eyes and saw familiar faces above him. Some carried the makeshift gurney which now held him, while others simply walked along in a hurried pace at his side. A hand was gripping one of his own, and he squeezed to get the owner's attention.

"Oh, Bofur," Ori said with a hint of relief as he looked down at his friend. "Don't worry. We have called for Oin."

Bofur had an idea of what had happened, and as he tried to speak, a wave of pain passed through him. Ori felt his friend's response in the strength of his grip.

"Where are we going?" the older of the two asked, and the rasping of his voice surprised him.

"Dori's house is the closest," Ori replied. A chuckle sound at Bofur's left, and he turned his head to see Dwalin walking with them.

"Your brother will not be happy when we trail this mess onto his rugs," the big dwarf noted.

"Are you joking?" Bofur managed to say through the pain. "He's been beside himself waiting for the moment. A troll could use his tablecloth for bathroom tissue and he wouldn't care."

His friends laughed, relieved to see him taking his predicament with such ease, but already Bofur was clenching his jaw and riding out another spasm. How in all of Middle Earth had he not recognized earlier that he was ready to give birth?? Had all of his fears and worries distracted him until he was oblivious to the clearest of signs?

"Nearly there now, lad," he heard Dwalin say in reassurance. The warrior's strong hand settled on the other's belly, and the dwarfling within kicked in response, likely eager to get out.

Nearly there, Bofur thought in agreement.

*

Bofur was initially too preoccupied with cursing at his pain to notice that he was being physically moved from the gurney onto a sturdy bench. Someone had taken a seat behind him to keep his body from laying completely back. Oin had once mentioned that being partly seated upright would help guide the child down, and thus encourage the birth to go a little faster. Bofur hoped the position would work. After passing out in the shop, the pains were steadily getting worse.

Oin, meanwhile, was just storming into Dori's home, where Bofur had predicted correctly that the dwarrow was most welcome to be born into. Dori was all but scurrying about like a mouse, making offers here and there and asking if he should help.

"That's not necessary," Oin said as he examined his patient, but the reply sparked a memory in Bofur.

"Of course it is," the toymaker said in between cramps that flowed through his middle. "Had he nothing to do but wait, he'd go mad!"

"Right." Oin shook his head, admitting defeat. "We'll be here for a while yet, so you may as well make us some tea."

As Bofur watched Dori bustle away with the task, he heard Dwalin's voice, low, rumbling, and soothing at his ear. So, that was who sat behind him.

"How do you fare then, lad?"

"I've been worse," he replied, "but I've also been much better." He shut his eyes, feeling faint.

"Clothes off," he heard Oin say. "No time for modesty now, Bofur."

Very much overwhelmed by his tremendous discomfort, Bofur found himself useless at following the order, but he quickly realized the old apothecary had been speaking to others within the room, as two pairs of hands proceeded to undo clasps and remove articles of clothing. The laboring dwarf fumbled in his attempts to help, and only stopped when Dwalin, who steadfastly held him held him from behind, whispered words of comfort. Bofur found he barely noticed or cared when he felt Oin closely examine him.

"I'll need a better view. The both of you, grab a leg."

So much in a daze was Bofur that he thought at first that the old healer referred to him and Dwalin, but then felt the same pair of hands which disrobed him lift his naked legs upward towards his midsection.

"Yes," Oin said. "This should do fine."

"Shouldn't you be giving him something for the pain?"

Bofur opened his eyes at the sound of Nori's voice, someone he had not even heard enter. He blinked to clear his vision of the blur, and saw that both Nori and Ori were the ones holding his legs up. In fact, Erebor's dauntless spymaster looked to be more unnerved and upset than anyone else.

"Don't frequent a lot of births, do you?" Bofur asked. He nodded toward Nori as he addressed Oin. "Keep an eye on this one; he may faint."

"As for your question, master Nori," the old dwarf replied, as he allowed the two brothers to relinquish their hold on Bofur's legs. "I don't wish to give him anything just yet. Too soon and any potions to dull the pain may affect the child. No, we'll see how he does for a little while..."

Bofur heard a disappointed noise bordering on a whine, and realized a split second later that it came from himself.

"Tea, anyone?" Dori announced as he returned with a tray. Nori, who Bofur could swear was turning a bit green, sat down heavily with the tray in his lap, holding his own cup with trembling hands. Perhaps some ale would soon be in order as well.

"Things are moving along very well," Oin said in a heartening voice. "Had you come to me as soon as the pains had come, we would have been here for perhaps a day more. But for now, I'd guess we have another... five hours at least."

"Oh, is that all??" Bofur replied, less enthused to make light of the event, and his dismay was clear in his voice. Five hours? He was not so certain he would last two. Already he was so tired, and the pain was steadily growing unbearable. When the birth would finally happen, he had less faith in bearing down as opposed to curling into a ball and begging for to be put out of his misery.

No longer being examined, he leaned forward, propping himself up on his arms, and tried to steady his breathing, a feat not easily attained. He felt Dwalin's hands, steely and huge, attempting to massage away the hurt, but it did very little to help, though Bofur appreciated the gesture. The pain would stop either when the child was born, or when its parent died... hopefully the former. His discomfort was added to by the fact that he was naked and coated in sweat, which made him shiver with cold. Ori seemed the first to notice, and he carefully draped a blanket over his laboring friend's shoulders.

"Thank you, lad," Bofur said through a clenched jaw as another contraction shot through him.

"Would you care for a spot?" Ori asked, presenting both him and Dwalin with the tea tray.

"I'm alright," the warrior said. "I'll stay right where I am. How about you, Bofur? Can you manage some tea?"

"My mouth is a little dry," Bofur admitted. "We'll try a drop or two before I'm seized again."

He managed three long sips, which felt like velvet on his throat, before the pain caught him once more in a grip of iron. Oin made a gesture and Dwalin guided Bofur back into a seated position, and both Ori and Nori resumed their places, lifting the toymaker's legs while the old dwarf hummed in deliberation and finally nodded to himself.

"This is going a little quicker than I expected. Just a little longer and then he'll be ready."

"I suppose it's far too late to just cut him open...?" Nori asked uneasily, stealing a glance at what their old comrade was looking at and instantly going quite pale.

Dori rolled his eyes. "You truly find that far more tolerable than him doing this naturally??"

Nori put his hands up defensively as Bofur's legs were put back down. "Slicing and stabbing I'm used to," he replied. "Actual birth... my heart is not nearly so stout."

"Then perhaps there is a way for you to be useful while you wait," his elder brother suggested. "Go and share master Bofur's progress with the others."

Nori blinked. "What others?"

As if on cue, a loud banging came at the front door. Nori quickly warmed to the idea and stood up, making a beeline toward the source of the noise.

"With pleasure, then," he said, answering the knock.

In the brief time that the door had been open, Bofur thought he could hear Bombur demanding to be let in, echoed by disgruntled complaints in Khuzdul, but Nori was steadfast in maintaining that too much of a crowd during the birth simply would not do. Even so, a few moments later the door re-opened, and even in Bofur's blurred sight, he could recognize the massive form of his younger brother entering the room, and he managed a small chuckle.

"Could it be that my brother was able to calmly stand witness to the births of twelve children and yet is trembling with worry over something so small?"

"Of course I am," Bombur replied with exasperation. "Verda could take care of herself. She's a strong woman. She's better equipped for the job."

Bofur nearly laughed at the words, but he felt too much pain to do so. "I appreciate your confidence in me." The pain itself swelled in him until it brought a sudden cry that made Bombur hurry toward him. A hand closed over his in a small but welcome effort of encouragement. Bofur needed all the encouragement he could get; this would only be getting worse.

"Think of it this way," Ori suggested, "you're all the closer to finally meeting your son."

"Or daughter."

"Yes, Dori, or daughter."

"I shall try to keep that in mind," Bofur replied breathlessly.


	6. The Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winding down to the birth, which isn't exactly a walk in the park.

Over two hours had passed and Bofur's earlier attempts at humor were all forgotten now. To pass the time, he had taken suggestions by both Oin and Bombur to wait the labor out in various positions, which helped, but only by a small measure. After a while he could not even lean forward for very long, as he was unable to hold up his own weight on his shaky legs from both agony and exhaustion. Eventually he was returned to his seat in front of Dwalin, who continued to hold Bofur upright, grip strong as ever and unwavering.

Bofur's pain had an even greater grip on him, and he no longer bothered to hold back any of his cries, which were steadily becoming screams. The worry was growing clear on the faces of his friends, with the exception of Oin, who dutifully kept vigil over the state of his patient, expression wooden and unreadable. Bombur, and Dwalin were just barely able to mask their worry, but poor little Ori's horror was written on his face. Bofur remembered hearing that the young dwarf had studied the breeding and child-rearing of dwarves comprehensively, and was thus likely remembering every horrible scenario of what could go wrong in the birthing process. Everyone shared that grating knowledge that dwarf births, especially male dwarf births, could be difficult, and they also shared the nagging feeling that the birth would be too much for the babe... and for Bofur as well.

"Legs up, boys," Oin said, kneeling and looking at the progress. This time, however, he saw a promising sign, which Bofur felt in turn.

"Can I...?" he asked in between heavy breaths, feeling that telltale aching twinge through his middle.

"Yes, lad, you can!" Oin exclaimed. "Bear down! Push!"

Bofur complied, and Dwalin endured the surprisingly strong grip which subsequently crushed his own powerful hand. He did not mind. The strength of his friend's grasp was but a taste of how the toymaker must have felt.

The laboring dwarf grit his teeth, face turning red as he strained, until Oin told him to relax. Bofur gave out a raw groan as he exhaled, already wishing for this to end, for the pain to end, and to have his child in his arms.

He just wanted his little one.

"How are you, lad?" he heard Oin from below.

"Is it out yet?" Bofur responded between gasping breaths. The others managed to laugh. He wished he could.

"Not quite," Bombur answered, giving his brother's knee an encouraging rub. "You're doing well. Don't give up just yet."

Another contraction seized Bofur, and Oin, hand on the younger dwarf's belly, felt it as well.

"Again, Bofur!" the healer said excitedly over the sound of his patient's moans of discomfort. "Push!"

Bofur screamed as he bore down. Friends and brother remained at his side without a word, Dwalin keeping him upright, Oin kneeling before him, and Bombur and Ori holding his legs. But were Bofur able to open his eyes, he would have seen distressed tears rolling down Ori's cheeks, and the fearful eyes in Bombur's otherwise stoic expression.

The agony was constant now. Even when Bofur rested briefly between attempts to push, the pain stretched out to every corner of his shivering body. An overwhelming pressure had built up deep inside him as he labored, and he knew the terrible feeling would be at its worst before he could finally birth the child.

Two more pushes later, Bofur thought he might pass out. In his delirium of anguish and exhaustion, he opened his eyes and happened to glance beyond the others and caught a startling sight.

A figure stood behind his fellow dwarves, hazy and unclear. As Bofur tried to perceive what he saw, the figure lifted its head and looked him in the eye.

"Bilbo..."

The other dwarves looked behind them at where their suffering friend stared. They saw nothing. Bombur gently grasped at his brother's jaw in an attempt to turn his head toward him.

"Look at us, brother," he said. "You must focus on the matter at hand!"

Bofur did not seem to hear. He stretched out an arm, reaching in desperation for the figure, not caring whether or not he was imagining things. He hurt. He wanted Bilbo to be with him.

"Please, Bilbo..." he begged. The pain increased and the last Bofur saw of the vision was how Bilbo looked when he bled to death on the battlefield. The dwarf sobbed as he struggled to push, pulse pounding in his ears as the other dwarves gave encouraging words.

"Focus," Bombur reminded him. He tried to obey. He bore down hard enough that he nearly fainted. Ori's hand pushed aside the hair from his face, drenched in sweat, but Bofur could hardly speak, let alone say a proper thank you. He had only one purpose now, and it was to give birth, no matter the pain.

"Nearly there!" he heard Oin proclaim. "Once the head is free, the rest shall be easier."

Bofur groaned, the sound less like a dwarf and more like a tormented animal.

"Can't breathe...!" he gasped, panicked.

"Deep breath now," Oin replied patiently. "Be strong, laddie. Push! With everything you've got!"

Bofur thought his heart might burst, but the need to see his child was greater than any fear. He pushed, screaming.

"Very good, very good!" Oin called over the din. "The head is out!" Bofur was in such a state of agony that he had to take the elder's word on the matter.

"The worst is over," Dwalin said. The voice at his ear faintly surprised Bofur, as he was beginning to lose awareness of all which was around him.

"Once more," Oin said. "Once more and the babe will be in your arms."

Bofur was not certain he had the strength anymore. Still, he had to bear down one final time. He felt so tired, so weak, but his efforts were enough.

The toymaker thought he might have gone unconscious very briefly, and in the fog which trapped him between asleep and awake, he heard the shrieking first cry from a pair of small but very strong lungs. Opening his eyes, Bofur instinctively lifted shaking arms, forlorn at their weakness. If he were to hold the helpless little creature now, he would drop it.

As soon as he realized this, he felt a powerful arm underneath one of his own, keeping the right arm aloft as Oin carefully pressed the tiny squirming body to them. Assisted in holding the child - his child, he thought - Bofur stared at the squalling little being he had created with Bilbo.

Tears both sentimental and heartbroken fell from his eyes onto the babe as his friends and brother congratulated him. He thought he might have heard a door open, as well as Dori's voice.

"Well?"

"A son," Oin was saying in joyful reply. "A healthy son."

"He's incredible," Ori said tearfully. Or at least Bofur thought the voice belonged to Ori. The weakened dwarf was so sapped of his strength that even the piercing cries of the dwarrow were becoming muddled.

"Dori, if you would take the babe..." Oin advised, followed with a "gladly" from Dori. Bofur's arms, becoming heavier by the second, were relinquished of the child, though the absence of his little one already snagged at his heart.

"Dwalin, can you carry him?"

"Yes of course."

"There is a spare room with a bed."

"Very good..."

Bofur heard nothing else, giving way to relieving sleep as he felt himself lifted and carried down the hall.


	7. Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur and his little one have a proper introduction.

Bofur did not know where he was, only that he stood in a softly lit grey space, no signs of whether he was in a featureless room or a barren field. He did not give this much thought, not when he was standing face to face with a welcome visitor.

Dwarf and hobbit stared at each other for a moment, a mere two paces apart, before the former finally spoke.

"I didn't get a very good look, but I think he already has a beard."

Bilbo smiled. "What about his feet? Is there any hobbit to be seen in him at all?"

"I didn't notice," the dwarf said with regret. "I was fighting to stay awake. It... hurt far more than I would have ever imagined."

Bilbo gave him an apologetic look. "I don't suppose you'll be wanting to have others then...?"

Giving a joyless laugh, Bofur shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. He was so tired, and the tears he fought to hold back were on the verge of escape.

"I wish you could be here with him," he said, "with us. You would have been everything to him..."

"He still has you," Bilbo replied, taking a step closer. "If I hadn't entered the battle, neither of you would be alive now."

"If you had stayed put, _you_ would be alive by now," Bofur returned, not without slight bitterness.

Bilbo's smile faded, but he looked into the dwarf's eyes, blue meeting green.

"I live in you," the hobbit said in faint reprimand. A small hand touched Bofur's cheek, prompting him to look into youthful blue eyes. "And in our son. Our friends are right, you know. I'm with you, even when you wake and I'm not longer in your sight."

Crying would have blurred his eyesight again, and left him unable to see his beloved little hobbit, but the tears refused to abate and the heartache was overwhelming. One hand covered his eyes while the other tightened into a fist. He wanted to hide his sorrow, to show Bilbo that all was well. But all was not well.

"I miss you," he said, tears streaming down his face.

Bilbo smiled again, though this time it was a sad one, and he reached up on tiptoes so that their lips met. Bofur savored the kiss, eyes shut as he felt small fingers caress his cheeks.

"One day we'll meet again. But for now, live. Live for him. Live for me."

*

Bofur drifted awake with some difficulty, time moving like a wagon through thick mud. A dull ache had settled throughout every corner of his weakened frame, but he was not surprised, considering what he had just been through. He wished he could have stayed within his dream a little longer, but even staying there a hundred years would never be enough. Strangely, the feeling of Bilbo's hands comforting him seemed to linger even as the dwarf awoke.

No. That was not Bilbo. Someone was keeping watch over Bofur as he slept.

Heavy eyelids opening, he saw a beard of black and grey. The hand he had felt patted his hair, brushing some strands from his face.

"Oh..." Bofur managed to say, his voice not surprisingly hoarse from earlier screams of pain. "Hello there."

Bifur perked at his cousin's greeting, muttering something to himself and taking Bofur's hand, squeezing gently. Bofur gave him a small, tired smile and tried to squeeze back, but even with his strength slowly replenishing, he still felt quite frail. Perhaps now with the babe no longer taking residence within him...

Wait, that's right.

"Where is everyone?" he asked, though he did not quite expect a proper answer from his cousin.

As expected, Bifur replied in Khuzdul. Before the somewhat uneven conversation could go any further, a voice from another room grew steadily louder until the bedroom door opened, revealing Dori.

"Awake, I see," the silver-haired dwarf said with a grin. "Bifur, I hope that doesn't mean you've interrupted his rest."

Bifur hurried away for but a moment, returning seconds later with a small device. Though still drowsy, Bofur realized he was being presented with a toy fashioned from wood, and newly carved at that, based on the scent and the not quite polished surface. He gazed over the small wooden pony, and when he carefully tugged on a stout hind hoof, the front legs bucked forward, as though the figurine might be galloping.

"Ah, finished already?" Dori noted as he observed the toy's function. He nodded toward Bifur, addressing his cousin.

"He started working on that the moment news spread that you were set to give birth in this house. Perhaps a little too advanced yet for a newborn, but he put every moment of his waiting into it, according to Bombur."

"Thank you," Bofur said, giving Bifur's arm a tender squeeze before looking back at his host. "Where is he? My son, is he alright?" In the very small time taken to ask, a fear gripped him that somehow something had still gone wrong. But based on Dori's smile in turn, the latter question seemed a bit silly.

"He's quiet now, but he was in a right state for his first moments. He wanted all of Erebor, possibly even some of Dale, to know he had arrived."

Relief washed over Bofur's expression. Just as he was about to ask for the dwarrow, he heard someone else approaching. His brother's silhouette was instantly recognizeable as it filled the doorway. Nori was close behind, and in his arms was a small bundle.

"Alright, brother?" Bombur asked as he knelt at the bedside, taking one of Bofur's hands in his own. Bofur nodded, but could barely look in the other's direction, unable to take his eyes off the tiny thing in Nori's arms. Bombur smiled, nodding toward the spymaster.

"Are ye ready to see him?" he asked, then playfully added, "I'm not certain if Nori will give him up. He's become quite attached."

"Worry not," Nori quickly said, stepping forward. "We've just become good friends, is all..."

"Should've known a little one would be your downfall," Dori muttered slyly.

Bofur scarcely paid the others any attention, captivated by the sleeping babe, which Nori was passing to him. Bombur respectfully stood close by, in case his older brother was still not yet strong enough to maintain his hold, but the group of friends otherwise kept their distance, allowing Bofur to receive his child and finally be properly introduced. Once the babe was secure in he's parent's arms, Nori stepped back and gave the others a telling look. Silently agreeing, even Bifur, they all quietly excused themselves from the room to grant the toymaker some privacy. Still, Nori gave one last look before closing the door behind him, and was quite happy to see the first genuine smile on Bofur's face in a long, long time.

The dwarrow had stirred from sleep when handed to Bofur, but only briefly. Bofur hardly wanted to wake him, even if it meant finally seeing the color of his child's eyes; the wee one looked just so peaceful now. Instead, he reveled in the mere sight of the tiny creature which lay nestled in his arms, staring in wonder at the tiny flexing fingers, at every instinctive suckling motion made even in sleep. The newborn snuggled closer, sensing the warmth of the bigger body which cradled him, an unquestioning trust in someone who could easily destroy him, even the dwarf's currently weakened state. Bofur was strong enough that he could kill him...

Or protect him.

And just like that, a force powerful enough to replenish his strength had overcome Bofur: the unbridled joy he felt knowing this was his child, the terror over the chances of any harm which might befall the dwarrow, and the subsequent resolve to prevent that harm, no matter what. He would do anything for him.

Adjusting his hold on the little one roused him from his sleep. Bright blue eyes opened and looked straight at him.

So... something of Bilbo had carried over after all. Tears stung in Bofur's eyes at the sight, but he blinked them away, grinning as he gently caressed a soft round cheek with his fingertip. Instinctively the newborn turned toward the contact, and a tiny hand reached upward, curling around the finger. Taking his own hand away for a moment, Bofur carefully unwrapped the blanket which swaddled the tiny body and inspected his child's feet. He chuckled a little. Though he was not sure if the obvious hobbit feet were just his imagination or not - the wee one was too young to be sure - he could already see they had a hint of feathery fluff, much like the dwarrow's cheeks.

Not at all pleased with being exposed from his little cocoon of warmth, the child fussed until whimpers became full cries. Bofur looked up at the door, suddenly feeling quite helpless, and he was grateful when he heard footsteps soon after.

Oin opened the door and entered, nodding toward the unhappy little creature.

"It seems your wee one could use some assistance."

Bofur's eyebrows raised, feeling slightly mischievous. "You actually heard that?"

"Someone else did," Oin replied with a wink. "And alerted me."

As the old dwarf showed his patient how to properly swaddle a newborn and the ideal way to feed ("make sure his mouth is completely closed around, there's a good lad"), Oin could not help staring at parent and child, and Bofur noticed very easily.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's good to see you smiling again," the healer explained. Bofur grinned broadly, a welcome sight from days long past.

"It's good to have a reason to again," he replied. Looking down at the soothed dwarfling, he tenderly felt his son's hair. "Isn't that right, little one? Ye've made your da' smile again."

"Do you have a name for him?" Oin asked. "And don't you pay the others any mind with their suggestions. He needn't be named after any of us."

Bofur gave a sly smile. "Not even after you?"

"Not even after me."

Gazing down at his child - who was starting to nod off now that he was full and comfortable again - he thought back on his dream, on Bilbo's words that the hobbit lived on through both his beloved and their child.

"Bagin," he said softly. He bent his head forward so that he could kiss his dwarrow's brow, his voice but a whisper.

"Your name shall be Bagin."


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry I'm sorry, guys. It's been forever, but this epilogue just felt so pointless for a long time, but the story needed an end, so here it is.

Bofur still misses his little hobbit. He has not visited Bilbo Baggins' tomb but once after their son's birth, when he was strong enough to be escorted, but he still experiences moments of sadness, where he wishes his beloved could still be with him. When Bagin laughs for the first time, or sicks up on an utterly flummoxed Dain Ironfoot, he wishes Bilbo could be present to see it all, or at least be alive to be told the events.

There are times when he looks in his son's painfully familiar eyes and briefly wishes he and the halfling had not developed feelings for one another, that they had never met. But then there are times which are happy, when the heartache goes away for a little while. The way Bombur and his own children immediately cotton to the new member of the family, and Bifur's unexpected but welcome gentility with the little dwarrow. Better still and even more unforeseen was Nori's surprisingly steadfast eagerness to help in any way he could, particularly the enthusiasm he expressed in helping the child to walk. The group which had once been thirteen did not feel the strength of their connection had weakened, not when the genuine smiles came to Dwalin's face so easily, and the natural caring from Dori and Ori, from so many years of their traditional upbringing assured that Bofur no longer has to worry about raising his child alone. The journey to retake Erebor brought Bofur to Bilbo, and tragically also stole the hobbit away from him, but at the same time, it brought more family to him than he could have imagined.

He does not dream of Bilbo, at least not as he had before. Nights pass where Bofur feels just a hint of his mate's presence, but he no longer feels haunted. He had expected the discovery to hurt, but he finds himself oddly at peace. The last vivid dream he had experienced was after the birth, where Bilbo had told him to endure, to live. And live he does, for the sake of his extended family, and for little Bagin. Bofur would see his beloved gentle hobbit again, when the time came for them to reunite in splendid halls where only peace was known, but for now, he lives, and he loves.


End file.
